Suledin Enasal
by Maeve's Child
Summary: How does a forgotten slave become the Herald of Andraste? How does a broken thing put the world back together again? The story of Varania, Fenris's Sister. This occurs in the same canon world as "Borders Yet to Be"(Kya Amell of Sensible Creatures)and there will be overlap as the story proceeds. There will be spoilers for the entire Dragon Age series. Proceed at your own risk.
1. Run

_Varania ran._

She had no idea where she was going but she knew that she would only survive if she ran. All she knew was _survive._ It was the one gift of slavery perhaps, that continuing to live was the only motivation she ever knew, until she nearly destroyed herself.

That was what she'd done, dreaming of something other than servitude and being seduced by Danarius's sweet words.

_I'll make you my apprentice. You will be a force of nature as all mages deserve to be. You only need help me return your brother to the safety of the Empire. Without his memories...you know how he was my dear. He was a child with a sword. Without guidance? Who can say what wildness he's gotten himself into. But you, you he will still remember. You share blood; you shared a womb. He is the other half of you and you should be together._

Varania ran.

She ran from the look of horror, of blind hatred on Leto's face. She ran from the tall woman who looked at him with love and stopped him from killing her. She knew nothing else but that Danarius was a liar and Leto..._Fenris_...was safe and she was a horrible excuse for a sister.

She was too terrified to be angry anymore but she had been angry at him for years for what he'd done. She could never understand how Leto could have shared blood with her, been born only minutes after she was yet know nothing of her life. It was different she knew, since she was female and it was gauche for the Master to trouble his female slaves as to not take the chance of sullying his bloodline. She was treated well, if not loved. But poor beautiful Leto was the Master's favorite even before the lyrium brands turned his red hair white and she knew it broke him more and more every day. Perhaps by setting her and their mother free, he thought he'd find a modicum of freedom, even as Danarius continued to use him.

But freedom wasn't beautiful for elves in Tevinter. It was an abyss of near starvation and indentured servitude more abusive than she'd ever experienced as a slave. She didn't belong to anyone so she had almost no value. When their mother died she was burned with the trash.

That's what _free_ meant. It meant without worth.

Where could she go, now that Danarius was dead with his blood on Le.._Fenris's_ hands? Where could she go now that she'd broken the unbreakable bond of their shared blood? She couldn't go back to Tevinter; she didn't know how to live on her own and she had only the most rudimentary understanding of her magic.

Varania ran.

She ran until her lungs were burning and the city gates were far behind her and she ran until she hit the shore of the Waking Sea where she collapsed on to the rocky sand numb, breathless and wishing she was dead. The cold salty water soaked into her skirts. _Survive._ Her very soul screamed it at her, by her heart felt shattered like a mirror smashed against the ground. Her chest burned. Her bones ached.

Varania wept.

If it hadn't been for the hunters, an old man and his grandson, the elder with faded spiral horns tattooed on his face and the young with lines and dots so recent that his skin was still swollen. They carried a basket of fish and instead of gathering driftwood, they found a broken ex-slave and brought her home like an abandoned kitten.

Keeper Istimaethorial Lavellan comforted her. Heard her story to every gruesome detail and instead of turning her away, made Varania her second and began to teach her how to live. They made vallaslin out of her own blood and crystal grace and tattooed graceful branches on Varania's throat that looked like the ones that burned under the tan skin of her brother's neck. It hurt and she bled and she had no regrets.

The Dalish were proud and broken and so very sad. They felt like home and for a while Varania began to understand what freedom felt like and maybe this was why Fenris fought so hard to keep it. She understood him now, in a way she never had before. Only her tears ran then. In time, the tears became fond memories of stolen moments of childhood. In a year, Varania felt Dalish, not Tevinter. She was a person, not a slave.

Then the war began. They felt the explosion at Kirkwall through the Fade, the Keeper, her First and Varania. They felt people die. And then they were mages first and elves second and it was terrible all over again.

Varania ran and Clan Lavellan ran with her.

When the conclave was announced, Varania volunteered to go. She knew more of human ways than any of the others. She knew how to blend in. She knew how to hide. After all, someone needed to learn what the shems were doing; they sent her to find out if it would ever be safe for their kind again. _Their kind. Mages._

But in the days before she left, there was twittering, gossip. One of the young ones was showing signs, having dreams and what then? The Clan could not risk more than three mages. Varania heard whispered arguments. She was one of them. _No she wasn't._ The child was eight summers old now, far longer than that _flat ear slave_ had been with them.

Varania ran.

This time, she ran towards the conclave and knew that no matter what she discovered, she would never go back. But she wasn't a helpless slave now. If the Clan had given her nothing else, they'd made her strong.

_Survive._ It was all she knew, and now she knew how to do it.


	2. The Key to Our Salvation

This _thing_ on her hand. Maker.

Varania remembered almost nothing after arriving at the conclave, carefully leaving her staff behind and happy for the paleness of her vallaslin that was easily hidden in the shadows of a hood.

She blended in with the servants with ease. There were always servants wherever there were shems who thought they were important. Yet, she didn't hate them, not like the Dalish did.

That she remembered. Thinking how she wasn't Dalish. That was quite clear. That part of her life was over almost before it had begun. They were no better than the magisters had been. Once her use was less than her upkeep, there was no reason to continue to feed her, in resources or in compassion.

Varania was on her own.

She tried to remember when it was done. She felt like there was something. She knew there was more than she recalled; wandering about the Temple, looking for someone, hearing something, but the only thing she really remembers with real clarity is the chains.

Varania woke up in chains. On the cold stone floor, hands shackled and she thought for a brief terrified moment that it had all been a dream and she was still a slave, and she was being punished. When she came to her senses, realized where she was, she was even more certain she was being punished.

The Maker might have turned away from the world, but his justice was swift even so. Varania had betrayed her own twin. How could she not be punished?

Yes instead of execution, she became _something_. She couldn't hide as she hid in the magister's house. The glow from this magic gave her away. And being suddenly thrust into this role, being able to seal the rifts and being the _Herald of Andraste?_ Maker, wasn't that was worst punishment yet? They saw her as a wild Dalish elf touched by the Bride of the Maker.

_You are the key to our salvation._

Solas looked pleased by the development. Cassandra and the other shems, less so.

Varania wanted nothing to do with it even if she did believe. She wasn't truly Dalish though she wanted to believe as they did. She believed in Andraste, in the Maker. Like most in Tevinter, even slaves, were taught that Andraste was a mage. When her own magic came, she felt a connection to the Bride that she'd never had before.

This glowing mark on her hand didn't feel very holy.

It hurt. Like being bitten. The mark very distinctively felt like teeth. She didn't understand.

She was swept along into this Inquisition business like the tide, trying so hard to play the part of the Dalish mage, the Elvhen, not the _slave. _She felt like they could all see through her, especially _him._ With those grey eyes he looked right through her and just _saw._

_Solas._ She'd learned just enough of the old language in her time with the Clan that she knew it meant _Pride._

But he didn't know who she truly was because he took out his frustration at the Dalish on her. She didn't mind so much because that meant he was talking to her which was suddenly very important. He was the first free man who'd looked at her like someone who was equally as free. The first mage except for Keeper Istimaethorial who wasn't a tormentor or a rival.

Varania was drawn to him and it scared her, but then he'd smile at her and she'd forget to be frightened. Carefully, so careful; a smile just for her and as if he was looking for something familiar in her face. She smiled back and said things she hoped he'd like to hear and ate up his approval hungrily.

The mark on her hand burned and screamed when she closed the rifts. Her body ached as she fought demons. She tried to sleep and when she did, she saw snippets of green fire and grey eyes and crackling fire. The Fade was treacherous and she wished someone would teach her how to navigate it.

She asked Solas about the Fade. He only smiled like a cat.

Varania took him to Redcliffe to meet the mages. She told herself it was because he too was a mage. She told herself it was because of his calm wisdom (which he had but it was mixed with much critical disdain). She told herself any number of convenient almost-truths, but just didn't want to be parted from his reassuring presence.

When everything went wrong (and when didn't everything go wrong?) and she dug Solas out of that cage in the future, she promised herself that she would do better. She would do better by them all, even that tall shem Tevinter she _recognized._

Thankfully, Danarius's guest rarely saw the servants. Not in any real way. They were part of the furniture, truly. But she remembered him. Dorian, son of House Pavus. She remembered his bold interest in Leto, and that was before the Lyrium burned away all his soft edges. She could only imagine what would have happened when he became the hard, finely crafted thing who tried to murder her.

This one would have eaten that right up, she suspected.

Varania tried not to think about it. She tried not to think about her brother at all. It was best for both of them.

Instead she turned her attention back towards the breach. Now that there was power to spare and mages at her back, she couldn't avoid it any longer.

_You are the key to our salvation._ Solas's voice echoed in her head. She began to notice that he was handsome, even through the smoke and the blood and the demons.

Above all the others, she felt his magic, odd and ancient, roiling through her along with the power of the rebels, feeding the mark until even the breach in all it's horror could not stand against her.

"The heavens are scarred, but calm," Solas told them.

Varania believed him. It sounded like something he knew much about.


	3. Wake Up

Haven was buried under a mountain of snow, the remains of the Temple lost to the might of nature. Yet most of the people survived.

Even Varania.

The Inquisition sang. They made her their leader and Varania was both proud and mortified. How this happened, she simply couldn't understand. Clan Lavellan sent her to the conclave to _dispose_ of her. Her value among free people was hardly more than it had been as a slave. Yet, instead of death she found people who wanted to follow her.

Once, Varania dreamt of becoming a magister and tried to sell her brother and her soul to get it. Now, a fine man told her to embrace the divinity they were putting upon her.

Solas lit Veilfire in the mountains and told her he knew a way to make them love her. He told her there was a place, an ancient place where she could lead her people to victory.

_Her people._ Not elves. Not slaves. Not even mages. Just people. _The Inquisition._

Solas took her to the Fade to tell her a story. Varania hadn't told him _her_ story yet, but she knew she must.

Hawke was here, at this new keep in the sky and she recognized Varania immediately. Yet Hawke knew Leto in the way only a lover could. She knew his blindness. She forgave Varania, even if Fenris hadn't yet.

Varric stood fast when Hawke recognized her. Hawke shouted at him for not telling her, for catching her off guard. She said she hated it when he did that.

He only shrugged.

"You knew all along," Varania realized. She thought he'd forgotten her. Didn't recognize her face under its decoration of vallaslin and her cut hair. "Why didn't you say anything?" The questions needed to be asked. "Why didn't you tell them you knew I was just a slave?"

"You aren't a slave any more. Fenris saw to that." Varania cringed. He _had_ and it was what almost destroyed them both. "Besides," Varric was nonchalant, "You didn't want to be recognized." He shrugged again. "You fucked up and you know it. You fucked up but you're something else now, someone different. People can change. Besides, I know your brother and I know he doesn't always think things through. Whatever really happened probably isn't as simple as he thought it was. Life is never black and white and right and wrong." Varric's chuckle was uncertain, as if he wasn't sure how this story was going to be written yet. "You don't have the market cornered on fucking up, you know."

She told Dorian first because once Varania asked him his opinion about slavery.

_I don't know what it's like to be a slave and I suspect you don't either._ It was the best he could do. He'd never really thought about it before. But Dorian was wrong about that. Varania knew _exactly_ what it was like.

He was utterly flabbergasted and then sad. He tried to apologize and she stopped him.

She liked it, as much as another could like being a possession. It was just as he suspected, because it was all she ever knew. For a long time, she preferred slavery to being free. She told him the truth, the real truth of how she tried to return herself to servitude of a different sort. She told him how she betrayed her brother to Danarius.

"He betrayed _you;_ Danarius did with his pretty lies of how your life would be better," Dorian said. His voice was crystal. A blade. "I will never...I don't." He stumbled; chipped the blade. "I don't know there's anything _I_ can do."

"Just," Varania looked at the floor. "Just don't look at me like I'm a slave, even though I am."

"_You're not a slave._" His Tevinter accent helped her believe it.

She told her advisors. Only Cullen couldn't hide his shock. Leliana shook her head. _This changes nothing. You are still you. _She left it to Josephine to tell the rest of them and decide if the Inquisition as a whole should know the truth. It wasn't a decision she could make on her own.

She went to tell Solas. He was sure to hate her. Nothing irked him more than servitude.

Before she could speak, he asked her to join him elsewhere. She simply accepted that they'd returned to Haven, uncrushed under the mountain. Her mind just allowed it and she walked with him, the gentle snow flakes lighting on her eyelashes and melting on the warm skin on his head. Varania smiled and unconsciously brushed a snowflake from Solas's face.

He blushed. He actually _blushed_ when she touched him.

Her ears burned.

_And then the whole world changed. _His voice hitched. Varania's mouth curved.

"Sweet talker." She forgot everything she planned to tell him.

She kissed him. Instead of telling him the truth and making him hate her she tasted his lips, warm and soft and closed her eyes to revel in it. She pulled away, suddenly shy. Solas looked amused, a myriad of expression crossing his face before he pulled her back kissed her in return. He wasn't so tentative as she was. He was firm and confident and he parted her lips with his and she forgot how to breathe.

She felt his kiss like the lightning she cast, electric through her whole body. He smelled like the west wind; he smelled like grass, he smelled like leather and the faintest hint of the musk of fur. Her fingers clutched at the stiff ribs of his sweater, marveled at the surprising warmth of the body underneath.

People think elves are collected and cool. But it's a lie. They run hot.

"This isn't right, not even here," Solas said struggling with his own mouth, pulling away. That was what she expected, pulling away, retreat back behind the impenetrable mystery of his eyes. But even as he moved away, the invisible current of electricity still crackled between their bodies.

She wondered if somehow, he knew. If he could taste slavery in her mouth.

"I'm sorry, I'm not what...wait." She looked up at him. "What do you mean, not even here?"

"Where did you think we were?" His eyes glittered knowingly.

Varania was legitimately surprised; it was hardly her first trip to...

"The Fade," she realized aloud. "This isn't real."

"That's a matter of debate," he replied, cryptic as ever.

Varania looked at the ground, seeing it for what it was, just a figment of her will and his. She looked up and him again. In the Fade, he was certainly more powerful than she, hardly cutting her teeth on the newness of truly wielding her magic.

But he kissed her, even so. It wasn't she who willed it to happen, no matter how she desired it.

"_Solas_," she said his name as hardly more than a sigh. "There's something I need to tell you. I'm not..." He put his finger over her lips.

"It's easier here," he said, "But even I have to concede that important things are best discussed after you..." He paused. Smiled, feral. "Wake up."

Varania sat up with the jolt, alone in her quarters. But she swore she could still feel his touch, smell him there though she'd never been anything other than alone in this room.

"_Solas,_" she said his name into the silence. "I was a slave." She swallowed. "I wanted to be a magister so I didn't have to be a slave anymore." Her lip trembled. "I tried to give the most horrible abusive man I've even known my _brother_ as a gift so I didn't have to be hungry anymore."

No one heard her.


	4. To Sleep

The Elder One. That's what he called himself.

It was ironic perhaps that she was who she was, and he was what he was. _Elven slave; Tevinter Magister. _It pleased her into the depths of her soul when she thwarted him and not only because it was the right thing to do. She finally beat one of those smug bastards.

She did find it odd that she didn't count Dorian among them even though he was actually _there_ while she was still someone's property instead of being what she was now. And sometimes he seemed to forget that she was an elf; that Solas was. He'd say something immensely stupid and realize it too late.

Maybe it was different because he was trying. He didn't want to be that. Corypheus wanted to be a god, whatever that meant.

Solas told her something cryptic about "a true god never needing to prove himself" but she wasn't sure she understood it. All she truly understood was that despite her standing tall and being strong, she was so tired and she just wanted the past to disappear.

The only time she felt like the world made sense was when she listened to Solas's stories about the Fade. They were old memories, or so he said, the powerful ones that stuck through the centuries, held dear by spirits dreaming of being mortal. If only they understood how dirty and broken mortality was, perhaps they wouldn't want it so much.

"Why do spirits want to enter the living world?" she asked him once, talking late into the night when candles burned low. He'd told her a sweet, romantic tale about a spirit who directed young lovers into each other's arms as her head lolled back against the wall, legs curled up under her on the couch in the rotunda. Solas sat beside her, his fingers still stained with paint and plaster.

"Because spirits are the embodiment of mortal emotions. Without mortals, they would not be. And there is no desire more ingrained into the living than the desire to keep doing so." He cocked his head at her. "Have you never wondered why the ancient elves chose to sleep when the worries of the world overwhelmed them, instead of choosing to die? Survival and continuance is the most powerful urge of the living. Spirits reflect this."

"Isn't death better sometimes?" she asked, remembering all those times that the desire to _survive_ was almost overcome by the desire to be free, no matter what that meant.

"I don't know," he said, his voice taking on a strange, far away sound. "I've never tried it."

Varania rolled her eyes at him. "I didn't think you had. And despite what the rumors say, I didn't die and come back either." She shrugged. "They say when you die, your soul goes to the Maker through the Fade. Have you never seen the spirit of a living being in all your journeys there?"

"Perhaps," he said, "But I don't know that I would have known such a spirit from any other others. I don't have any special wisdom when it comes to death. All I know is the pain of loss." He looked so forlorn, so lost when he said those words. It took everything Varania had to resist holding him.

But he'd asked her to give him time. He was _hesitant_ after what happened between them in the Fade. She understood, and she herself was hesitating still telling him who she was.

_For the good of the Inquisition, we feel it is best that this knowledge stay only with your closest companions, should you choose to tell them. The soldiers, the agents, they may not understand. It is not so much that you were a slave, but that you are from Tevinter. Look at the difficulty Dorian has faced, even with your support. We fear there will be dissent._

And that was that. No one was to know and she would keep living the lie unless she chose to stop. It terrified her to tell Solas who she was. She'd come to have such feelings for him...would he only turn away when he knew the truth of who she really was? Would she even be able to blame him?

"You look tired, Lethallan," he said, interrupting her musing. "Are you well or have I talked too long?"

Varania shook her head. "No, I...haven't slept since we returned from Crestwood." She couldn't even tell him why.

_Hawke is my brother's lover and all I can think about is how I wronged him and how he's alone without his love because she's here risking her life to help me! And that heartbroken Grey Warden with the cold blue eyes and all those horrible tales of blood magic. Varania knew of the price of blood magic and __**Maker**__._

She wrapped her pain around herself tightly.

"Let me help you," Solas said, one warm hand on her arm. "I know...," he grinned. "Much about sleeping. I can help you find your way. You need rest, da'len."

"Ma serannas Solas," she said quickly, realizing the for the first time the phrases of elven were working their way into her speech without forcing them, in a way they never had among the Dalish. "But I don't know that I could."

"You can." His confidence was clearly greater than hers. "Come with me." He offered his hand. She couldn't resist taking it. His fingers entwined with hers. He lead her into the hall, only a few souls still awake at this hour and none bothering to note their passage.

"Are you going to tuck me in, hahren?"

Solas laughed. "Yes."


	5. Perchance to Dream

"Just close your eyes lethallan." He settled down on the bed beside her, lanky legs half tucked up, leaning casually on his elbow. It was strange having him so close yet knowing she should not touch him. He hadn't given her permission yet. It was certainly not what her brain had originally imagined if she ever gotten him into her bed but she kept her hands carefully to herself.

Varania complied, though it felt strange, Solas so close to her, yet thinking apparently that she shouldn't be distracted. She felt him shift in the bed with the slight movement of the soft mattress under her before he spoke again.

"Now, just relax. Start with the top of your head. Feel all the muscles relax."

Instead of relaxing, Varania peeked an eye open. He laid beside her with a one of those tiny half smiles on his lips. She almost wished the big four poster bed was just a little bit smaller for an instant, but then thought better of it. He wasn't here so she have inappropriate urges. If they'd just been dirty thoughts, physical ones, they would have been easy to push away. Instead, she just wanted to be _closer to him_ whatever that decided to mean.

He seemed to sense her looking at him and he opened his eyes. His smile widened. He shook his head.

"Da'len," he chastised her. "You won't be able to sleep if you have your eyes open."

Varania sighed. "I'm not a child, you know." She tried to read his expression as a response to that but it was enigmatic. "Ir abelas," she quickly amended, thinking she saw a bit of disappointment in his eyes. "I don't have any manners when I'm tired."

"No, you are right," he admitted. "I should not try to put distance between us by calling you such." This time his expression was more readable, but still complex. Sadness, hesitation and _something._ "For now," he paused and then explained. "If I help you with this, I will sleep as well. If my presence is distracting..."

"No," she replied, too quickly. "I mean, yes, you are distracting, but I don't want you to go. I will try harder to listen."

He grinned at that, clearly pleased but only nodding in reply before he closed his eyes again. Varania followed suit, taking a deep breath to calm herself. Solas cleared his throat.

"Now, again, focus your attention on the top of your head. Next, your forehead, your cheeks and at the same time down the back of your head to the crux of your neck." He began to speak, listing off one body part after another. Varania carefully complied this time, allowing the tension in her muscles to melt away. She hadn't realized how much strain there was until it was gone.

She slipped into sleep without even realizing it and for a long time, floated in a restful dreamlessness. Her body soaked up the calm and the rest, direly needing it. Crestwood had been a horror; all those bodies, all that death. But none of that troubled her for the moment, sunk under a warm dark blanket that deep sleep, _beneath the Fade_ she thought of it. It wasn't until her mind started to emerge again that she truly entered the Fade itself.

She found herself on the streets of Minrathous, the cobblestones of this ancient street damp with humidity and glossy in the fading light of evening. The street was silent though and Minrathous was never quiet, always a bustle of people and animals and smells. In the distance she heard someone call her name. She spun, saw a flash of red hair. _Leto._ He had that look, that one before he was about to do something stupid and then he started to change, the color fading from his hair, the glow of those blue white lyrium brands starting to glow through the darkness of his skin. But before his transformation was complete, before he spoke again, a voice cut through the dream, yanking her out of the Fade like a parental hand on her collar.

She sat up as if someone pulled her.

The voice; it was Solas, but he wasn't awake. He thrashed, his face contorted with pain, anger. His eyes darted wildly behind closed lids.

"No, no no no," he muttered, the sharp tone of that single word clearly what had grasped her from sleep. Varania wasn't sure what to do. The Fade could be perilous for any mage, and Solas traveled further than most. There were so many dangers, so many things that could go wrong if she woke him and he wasn't ready.

Steeling herself, she reached out a hand and put it on the side of face. Instead of pulling away or even ignoring her, he suddenly relaxed into her touch. His hand came up over hers.

"Thank you," he muttered before even opening his eyes. Slowly, they opened and they were reddened and damp as if he'd shed tears though there were none on his face. "I did not need hear any more of that." Solas took a deep breath and squeezed her hand again before he sat up, tucking his legs under him. Varania let her hand fall back into her lap.

"What happened?" She wondered what in the Fade might actually spook him.

"I need your help, lethallan," he asked, his voice grave. "My friend has been captured by mages - I heard the call for help in my dreams."

"Anything you need from me is yours," she said probably more openly than she should have. She pressed on despite how much that sounded like a confession. "How did they trap your friend? Blood magic?"

Solas shook his head, perhaps to gracious or instead still too distracted to notice her nearly blatant admission. "A summoning circle, I assume."

"Your friend is a..."

"A spirit, yes. Of Wisdom in fact, and it has been pulled through the Veil against it's will." He pursed his lips, his eyes still having the far away look. "I saw the Exalted Plains. I'm sure that's what they have trapped it."

"Why would they do that?"

"I'm not sure," he admitted. His tone was fierce despite his calm words. "Likely for knowledge they were not meant to have, or for power or any number of foolish reasons."

Varania nodded. In Tevinter, magisters used summoned spirits all the time. As servants, as helpers, for knowledge and for power. They tried not to go against the purpose of the spirit and corrupt it, unless that was their original goal, and even then it was easier to just bind a demon instead. She couldn't comment how much she actually knew of this, not until Solas knew the truth and now certainly wasn't the time to add more difficultly to his life. She could tell by the look on his face that he was already more than stricken enough.

"We'll go as soon as possible. I think we already have scouts there, and if we don't I'll send some ahead as soon as I'm able." Varania's voice took on a note of command; it reminded her of the trapped spirit in Old Crestwood. It wasn't so bad, having power, however it was that she came about it. She understood more now how the magisters became so addicted to it.

"Thank you," Solas said. His eyes were softer now. He cocked his head when he looked at her, as he often did. "I...thank you."

"I haven't done anything yet," Varania said, trying to smile but knowing it was hollow. She looked at him for just a little longer, allowing herself to drink in his presence. Though she knew in her heart that she wanted more from him than merely his friendship, even that was worth reveling in. Especially if it might be all he could offer. Breaking eye contact, she swung her legs over the far side of the bed as if to get up, but she paused, sitting on the edge and looking at her hands.

"You are my friend, lethallin," she said softly. "I would do anything for you."

Solas made a sound as if to reply, but Varania got to her feet and that cut him off. She looked back at him over her shoulder. "I haven't had many friends before. I hope I'm doing this right."

Solas looked skeptical. "You have such a kind heart, it seems unlikely you would have not had friends in your clan."

Varania shrugged, trying to push it off, as if it wasn't so much more complicated than that.

"Things aren't always what they seem to be."

"That," Solas replied with a little snort, "is true."


	6. The World and Men

Varania wasn't sure what was worse; the corruption of the spirit itself, Cole's immediate fear or Solas's anguish when it was done. The peace the spirit felt seemed to negate its own pain, even if that meant its sentience was gone. And Cole seemed to follow suit, seeing that in death the spirit returned to what it was meant to be. After all, that was what worried him more than anything - the loss of who he was.

She didn't blame him, not now that she was finally discovering who that person was in herself.

But that release did not seem to comfort Solas. He ended the lives of those mages so coldly it actually shocked Varania, despite how much death she herself had dealt. She questioned herself. Maybe she should have stopped him? Their deaths did not seem to bring him any closure.

He'd looked at her with such affection when she offered her condolences and still seemed surprised that she would understand his friendship with a spirit. To her, it hadn't seemed extraordinary - a friend was a friend no matter what form they took. Solas thanked her, thanked them all for their help in releasing the spirit, but then disappeared into the wilds on his own. Varania thought he'd be a few hours behind them on their return to Skyhold, but she was wrong.

_Three days._

It was a very long time to wander and to wonder after his safety. A part of her wanted to go after him. What if he was hurt? Dead? But she knew that was foolishness and more than a little overprotective. Solas was a man after all, and though he hadn't admitted to his age, he was clearly older than her thirty years. He'd lived for a very long time on his own and frankly, without her and her mark to attract the attention of demons and Corypheus's forces, chances are he was safer on his own than he ever was with her.

She was afraid that he'd realized that and was never going to return.

Just generally doing without his comforting presence was awful enough all by itself without imagining that he might not come back. She'd finally started to wrap her head around how she felt about him and to accept that she actually felt something for anyone. For so much of her life, she'd not allowed herself to even have likes or dislikes. Varania didn't even allow herself the affection of friendship. Anything more was simply out of the question.

When she came to the Dalish she couldn't even tell them what she liked to eat. She liked what her Master gave her or there were consequences. Getting to choose what she wanted was foreign. But once she let herself decide for herself, her preferences came in a rush. She liked Ferelden cheese and tea from Antiva and she really hated beets. Those frilly Orlesian pastries were delicious and so was cocoa from Par Vollen. She did not find human men particularly appealing, though Cullen had pretty hair and Loghain had beautiful eyes.

When she kissed Solas in the Fade it wasn't just a kiss. _It was more,_ at least for her part. Even if he didn't feel the same, she wanted to tell him. And then, she needed to tell him who she was.

He deserved no more lies. She deserved no more lies. She was what the Maker and the world had made her. Solas would either accept her as she was or not at all. If he did not accept her, no matter how she felt, there was nothing more to say.

None of that mattered if he never returned.

These thoughts came a little too easy in the dark on the night, alone in her bed. She couldn't sleep, fearing what the Fade might show her and worried she couldn't tell the difference between what was true and what was a lie. Instead, Varania made her way down to the kitchens, where she found a lone servant mixing dough and making bread, looking bleary and exhausted. It had taken some convincing, but she'd excused him to bed and took on the task herself. Mage or not, when there were banquets, parties, festivals, all the slaves in Danarius's house had to help prepare. Even if he had her sorting books once she learned to read the majority of the time, Varania was quite proficient at kneading dough. And it was calming, safe and familiar.

The Inquisitor kneaded the dough and shaped it into loaves to rise again, softly whistling to herself a Tevinter lullaby deep in the dark of the night. She didn't realize she wasn't alone until she finished the tune and rich man's voice chimed in.

"That's a beautiful song, though very sad," Loghain said. Varania looked up to find him in the doorway, leaning casually against the frame. He nodded in greeting. "I'm sorry to disturb you Inquisitor, but Wardens have quite the appetites. I thought to find something to eat." He looked amused. "I did not expect to find anyone at this hour and certainly didn't expect to find you making the bread. Do you do everything yourself?" His face tried to smile, but there was too much sadness in his eyes for it to be truly a smile. There was an undercurrent of sadness in everything he did. It was impossible to miss.

"Thankfully for everyone, I'm usually too busy to be in the kitchen. I am good at bread though, after all I have a lot of prac...," she stopped mid word and looked up at him. "Wait, you don't know, do you?"

Loghain uncrossed his legs and came into the room with only a few strides of his long legs. Human men seemed impossibly tall. He certainly had the potential to be intimidating, but he slouched a little, she assumed under the weight of all the madness of the Wardens. "Know what?"

Varania made a little noncommittal noise. She wasn't sure how to feel when she told people about her past. Telling this Warden, whoever he used to be, was probably safe enough. He wasn't really in any position to judge her. She only knew a bit of his story, gleaned from Varric. She might have been literate, but slaves didn't get to learn anything that didn't benefit their master. Ferelden history wasn't a very useful subject in Minrathous.

"Have you met Hawke's lover, Fenris?" she asked by way of a reply. Loghain shook his head.

"No, he was not with her, though she does speak of him fondly and often," Loghain explained. "I assume that somehow relates to what I do not know?" He smiled again, that sad half smile.

"Fenris is my brother," Varania said without ceremony. "He and I were once slaves. In Tevinter." She shrugged, hoping to prevent the obligatory sympathy. "And this," she gestured to the bread dough. "This is familiar. That is all."

Loghain nodded again. He didn't immediately apologize, as if his entire race somehow needed to feel badly for the actions of Tevinter and she was grateful for that. She was so tired of hearing it.

"That seems logical, and I do understand more than you likely expect. Though I usually am drawn towards splitting wood myself. No one wants to see me try to cook anything that isn't meat," he said, chuckling a little. He reached into the barrel next to the table and pulled out an apple without any elaboration. He took a bite and chewed thoughtfully. Varania went back to kneading and for a while they were silent.

"Is there a reason this is a secret?" he asked. "I was told you were Dalish. And you do have the tattoos."

Varania shrugged. "I am Dalish," she said. "Or I was for a while. I lived with the Lavellan clan for more than a year. They took me in and made me one of their own, after a fashion. I _am_ of the Lavellan clan or I was when I left it, so it is a truth. It's just not the whole truth." She sighed. "It's hard enough for some of them that I'm an elf. It would be harder if I was a slave. And even worse if I was Tevinter. But that is what I am. I was a slave to a magister and he taught me to read and he nurtured the beginning of my magic." She took the dough she was kneading and shaped it into a careful loaf, placing it on the pan next to the others. "It wouldn't make me very popular."

"Being popular is a double edged sword," Loghain said. "Though I understand why you wouldn't tell them. There are times I wished being a Warden could provide me with the same anonymity it gives others."

"I suppose in Ferelden and Orlais you would be well known. To be honest, I hadn't heard of you in Tevinter, but slaves aren't given much education. Varric told me a little of your story, about the Blight and Ostagar. Solas," she cringed a little when she said his name, "He said that the spirits of the Fade remember you as both a hero and a villain." She gave him a look. "I'm sure only you know the truth. I know how wrong the stories people tell often are. Tevinter, the Dalish. It's as if they had a competition to see who could misunderstand the most."

Loghain laughed bitterly. "The Wardens are no better though I doubt that's a comfort. Sometimes I've gotten the impression people prefer ignorance to the truth. I know I have in the past. The truth is often not comforting."

"So I've discovered."

There was a moment of silence then, a bit awkward. Loghain cleared his throat.

"I do apologize for disturbing you Inquisitor," he said. He made as if to leave. Awkward or no, she didn't like the solitude that loomed if he left.

"You aren't disturbing me," she said, trying to keep his company. "I was disturbed long before you came in. I'm glad for the company, to be honest. I almost want to ask you to stay."

Loghain raised an eyebrow. "I suppose at this hour, your options for companionship are limited, so I can't fault your taste."

She laughed. "I don't know you well enough to know if you are overly hard on yourself or too honest."

"A bit of both, in all likelihood, but after all these years as a Warden, I have gotten good at late night conversations held in confidence. We Wardens do love our secrets. So what can this old man do to help you pass the time?" He didn't seem put out by her request, only amused. He was humoring her, but that was better than being alone.

"I don't know," Varania admitted. "I just don't like the idea of more quiet."

"That quiet always leads to thinking, which can be a mixed blessing in a position as you are in," he said, sounding as if it was something he understood. "I must say, I was pleased to discover that you are both an elf and a mage. The world needs to see more of both of those in positions of power."

Varania smiled unexpectedly. "I'm surprised to hear that. Most people are a bit put off by the combination."

"When this is done, when the immediate threat is defeated, you should tell them where you come from," he said. He looked a bit green for a moment, as if he was remembering something nauseating. "Though I have not always lived to my own standards and I have made some unforgivable mistakes regarding your people, I've always believed that elves were the equal of any man. And in time I came feel the same of mages. It doesn't surprise me that the three most famous heroes of this age have all been mages." He chuckled. "And women. It's about time."

"You surprise me again."

"Do I?" he chuckled again. "I suppose I surprise myself sometimes. Though I had to get quite old before I had any sense at all." He sighed at that. "I also wanted to compliment you on your inner circle, though as I know, that's often more a matter of fate than intent. It is good to see such a mix of people. It gives you more perspective. Elves, Dwarves, a Qunari even. It is wiser than it might appear. It is a mistake to let your view become too narrow. An error I only learned in disaster."

"They are quite the group," she admitted. "I wish I could take credit for it, but it's been just dumb luck."

"I did however noticed you seem short one elf the last few days," Loghain commented.

"How did you know?" She looked up at him in surprise. So many details escaped her. It's why she needed all those advisors. She'd be lost without them.

"It's the soldier in me, I suppose," Loghain explained. "I notice routines, guard rotations. Every morning the boy with the big hat, the odd one, would walk with the elf, Solas I believe you called him, through the courtyard speaking with and comforting the wounded. The boy has been alone the last two days and he seems a bit lost on his own."

"Yes, Solas is...missing. We, tried to help his _friend_," she began, but chose to not elaborate on what type of friend. She wasn't in the mood for that inevitable discussion. "We were too late to do anything but comfort the dying. He went to mourn his friend and hasn't returned." She paused and struggled with herself. "I don't know that he will. He will be missed if he doesn't return."

Loghain gave her a knowing look. "He'll be back, though he'll wonder at his motivation."

She was skeptical. "How could you know that?"

"I saw how he looked at you, when you came to find me at Crestwood," Loghain said. That sadness was back in his eyes. "The look of a man who wants something he shouldn't have."

Varania shook her head. "Shouldn't have?"

"So he thinks," Loghain said. "I've worn the same expression enough times to recognize it." Varania made to reply but Loghain held up his hand to stop her. "Whatever you think yourself, it is what he thinks. But he'll be back, even so. Trust me."

"I hope you're right."

Loghain took the last bite of the apple and chewed thoughtfully. He swallowed. "I am not right all that often, but I am this time. Just give him some time. He's very broken. I recognize that as well."

Varania couldn't even reply. She just looked down at her hands. She'd almost forgotten in her own distress that Solas had feelings of his own that were not all about her. She felt a sudden wave of guilt for being so selfish.

Loghain seemed to sense the shift in her mood. "Good night Inquisitor," he said, making his way to the door. "The world and men run on their own time. You'll have to forgive us when we are foolish and hesitant." It was an odd declaration, but he said nothing else, just paused at the door for a moment. He almost seemed that he wanted to say something more, but thought better of it at the end, leaving without another word.

"Good night, Warden Loghain," Varania said to his back. She wasn't even sure if he heard her, sudden solitude washing over her.

"I hope you're right," she repeated to the silence. Like before, no one heard her.


	7. Ma Nuvenin

The cook kicked Varania out of the kitchen at dawn.

Bleary eyed, she blinked at the sunlight. Her eyes watered and she wiped at her face with her hands. She knew she should have tried to sleep, listened to what Loghain had to say, gotten drunk, anything other than spending the entire night skulking around with a hot ache in the center of her chest.

She'd come to a conclusion at least. She loved Solas. It didn't matter that she knew hardly anything about him or that he didn't yet know her darkest secret. It didn't matter if he felt the same. And as much as it would hurt, it didn't even matter if he decided not to return.

She loved him and nothing was going to change it.

It felt good to finally admit it. Varania tried to blame it on slavery, as her mind worked it over. Slaves didn't fall in love. How could she even know what it was? But that was a lie. She always knew what love was. It came in degrees and flavors, but it was always the same at it's core.

Love meant wanting someone to be happy. She knew love and she knew it just as well as someone who had always been free. She had a family, a mother. She loved her. She loved Fenris. He was her brother and she did love him, but then she broke herself and forgot how. She vowed that she'd find some way to make it up to him.

Perhaps that was something she could do. Hawke was here while they scouted the Western Approach. She could talk to Maire Hawke who had kind blue eyes and find out how she could fix things somehow. Fenris might never forgive her, but she was determined to try.

She made it around the corner and halfway down the stairs to the courtyard when she saw him and all her other plans were immediately forgotten.

Solas.

He walked through the gate into the yard, his normal graceful gait still heavy with grief. Varania could almost feel the pain rolling off of him, even from here. It took all her composure to not rush down the stairs to try to console him. She'd only touched him outside the Fade once, unless he'd touched her first. She wondered too often what it would be like to know that comfort, that easy consent to just put the tips of her fingers on his face or the palm of her hand in the hollow of his back. She ached to touch him and to give him whatever succor she could. Instead, she let her nails bite into her palm and swallowed before taking the last few steps to the bottom of the stairs.

He noticed her only when she spoke, his head tipping up to meet her eyes.. "You came back." She wondered if it sounded as desperate to him as it did to her.

"Inquisitor." His voice was a little low, a little clipped.

"How are you?" She folded her hands behind her back to keep them under her control.

"It hurts," he said, looking back down for a moment. He took a breath and met her eyes again. "It always does. But I will survive."

The pain when he spoke make her heart sink. "I'm so sorry."

"You did everything you could, you were a ... a true friend. I am sorry if I gave you cause to think I would not return."

"I was only worried about you," she said and this time her hand moved without her even considering it. She realized she'd actually taken his hand in hers before she could stop herself. He let her. He didn't move away. "If you have cause to mourn again, you don't have to be alone."

"Thank you," he said, looking down at their intertwined hands. He squeezed gently. "It's been so long since I could trust someone."

"I know." And she did know. She knew how it felt to be afraid to trust. She couldn't trust herself at times, but he could trust her. She would kill herself to prove it.

Solas made a sound almost like a sigh and looked up at her again. "I will work on it." He managed a ghost of a smile and it was the most beautiful thing. It lasted only a few heartbeats before he frowned at her again. "You haven't slept."

Varania pursed her lips. "I had a rough night."

Solas looked sheepish. "I'd ask you to tell me that it was not of my doing, but I fear you would not answer correctly."

She shrugged. "I was worried. I..." She shook her head. "Don't blame yourself for my inadequacies."

He squeezed her hand again, almost a little too hard. "Please, you need rest. I will seek you out after you have rested, if you promise to sleep. I...," he took a half step forward and took her other hand, putting them both between his. He lifted their hands between then and looked for moment as if he was going to kiss her fingertips but thought better of it. He gave them another squeeze, gentle this time. "I do have things I would like to discuss with you. But first, find some rest in the Fade."

Varania apparently looked more skeptical than she realized, considering his expression.

"Please. For me," he asked.

"For you," she sighed, "For you, I will." For you, anything.

He let her hands go. "Dareth Shiral, Inquisitor." Formal again, but some of the dark shade behind his eyes seemed lessened. It made it easier and harder to breathe, all at once. "I will find you later."

"Yes, I'd like that," she admitted. "Dareth Shiral, lethallin."

The part she didn't say this time; Ma bora'din. Ma nuvenin, Solas.

* * *

><p>She slept, collapsing fully clothed into a little ball in her bed. Just knowing Solas was alive, unbroken, in one piece; that would have been enough to set her mind at ease. But he was also here and as safe as that could mean, considering the state of the world. Sleep came easier than she expected.<p>

She also owed Loghain a drink. He was right, after all.

Dreams were hazy and insubstantial, as they usually were. She didn't mind. That meant that she actually rested and even she had to admit she needed it. She'd been on edge the entire time Solas was gone, more than she'd even realized until it was passed. It was like slicing a dagger through a bow string. She was spent.

The side of the bed moved, just a fraction. It wasn't enough to startle her, only gently get her attention. Waking always felt a bit like surfacing from a pond and taking a deep breath. She breathed in through her nose and caught the faint scent of the wind, of sweet grass, of woodsmoke. Varania opened her eyes.

"Welcome back, lethallan," Solas said. It was Solas sitting down on the bed beside her that had woken her. She smiled at him, grateful that his face was the first thing she got to see. A girl wasn't always that lucky. She hadn't locked the door. She was glad.

Varania stretched a little. "What time is it?"

"Sunset," he replied.

She sat up fast enough to make her feel a little dizzy. "What? I slept the entire day?"

He shrugged languidly. "I asked that no one disturb you, which was not terribly effective, however Cassandra insisted once I explained. That was effective." He looked amused.

She shook her head at him. "But what if something happened?"

"Things happen all the time, with or without your participation, Inquisitor..." He noticed her grimace at the formality. "Varania," he amended. And we need you well, more than we need you to do everything."

"I am well enough, I suppose," she said. She coughed, her throat dry from entirely too much sleep. Solas reached to the table and poured water from the pitcher there. He handed her the glass and gestured for her to drink. She took the cup from him, trying not to linger when her fingers brushed across his. She swallowed and for just a moment he watched her a little too carefully before he stood and took a few steps away. He set his hands on the railing to the stairs, his back to her.

"Can I ask you a question?" he asked, still facing away from her. Varania swung her legs over the side of the bed.

"Of course."

"What were you like?" he asked. "Before the anchor?"

Her heart stopped. "What do you mean?"

"Has it affected you in any way? Your mind, your morals, your...spirit?" His voice caught. She wasn't entirely sure what he was asking, but this could only end with the inevitable confession of her past. She wasn't sure she was ready for this. Her head hurt.

"The anchor...didn't change me, no. I don't think so." She got to her feet. That was true. It changed her life, but not who she was. "Why do you ask?" She tried to sound nonchalant, even though her heart was hammering.

He turned to look at her, gesturing for her to follow him as he headed out on to the balcony. The sky was blushed as pink as a rose. Solas turned to her and the tips of his ears were flushed nearly the same shade.

"You have shown a wisdom I have not seen...," he paused and struggled for a word. "Since my deepest exploration of the ancient memories of the Fade." He spoke a little too quickly. It made her feel a uncomfortable. "You are not what I expected."

Her hands were trembling. "What...have I done that is so surprising?"

"You have shown a subtlety to your actions, a wisdom that goes against everything I expected. If the Dalish could raise someone with a spirit like yours?" He looked pained. He struggled again. "Have I misjudged them?"

"I...shit," she cursed. Solas raised an eyebrow.

"I wasn't expecting that either." Some of the tension dissolved, on his end at least.

Varania felt a bit like flinging herself off the balcony to avoid this conversation. But here it was. There was no excuse to avoid the subject now. She had to tell him. She couldn't live with herself, she couldn't dare even think to herself that she loved him and not tell him the truth now.

"The Dalish didn't make me who I am," she said, swallowing hard. "The decisions were mine."

"It is good of you to give yourself that credit, that..." She stopped him.

"No, wait." She put a hand up and almost touched him but thought better of it. Not now. "The decisions were mine, yes. And...the Dalish didn't raise me."

Solas looked perplexed. "I don't understand."

"I lived with the Dalish, for a time. I earned my vallaslin; I learned some of their ways. But my blood is not Dalish. I'm from...Tevinter." She looked at the ground, not wanting to see his face when she said it finally. "I am...I was a slave."

"Oh," was his only reply. A single syllable that felt like a blade in her heart. Silence stretched out deep and wide between them. Varania gathered the scraps of her courage, found the well of strength she carried that allowed her to be who she'd become. She looked up at him with wide eyes. Solas was gazing out over the mountains, at the pastel sky. He seemed to sense her looking and he turned back. His expression was, as it often was, unreadable.

She took another hard fought breath and she told him. She told him everything. How Fenris fought for her freedom and how freedom was more bitter than slavery in Tevinter. She told him about lyrium tattoos and escape and betrayal. She told him how she ran. She told him about her brief time with the Dalish and told him about survival. She told him about the depth of her weaknesses and how it was only then that she found strength, once everything she ever knew was snatched away by her own horrible, broken failures.

She told him everything and fell silent again with a last plea for forgiveness that she did not expect him to give her.

"I am so sorry I didn't tell you right away," she said. "I was afraid. At first I didn't know if I could trust you. Once I knew I could," she shook her head, "I was even more afraid I would lose you, your friendship and I..." She didn't continue. She loved him, but it would be wrong to tell him now. It would be manipulation. She wouldn't do it.

Solas would either accept who she was or he wouldn't, but she would not force him to it.

Varania expected him to walk away. She expected him to look at her with disgust. Instead, he smiled at her, bright as a star. Instead of abhorrence, his face was the very picture of admiration.

"You are...so much stronger, more than I even realized," he sounded astonished. "You have been through so much hardship and made grave errors, and here you are striving to save the same world that has hurt you so deeply. You see and admit your mistakes and take responsibility for them. You struggle to right your own wrongs. I am utterly amazed." He sighed. Bit his lip for a split second. "Most people act with so little understanding of the world. But not you."

Varania was beside herself. "What does this mean, Solas?"

"It means," his smile widened. "It means that I have not forgotten the kiss."

She smiled like a fool. "Even...?"

"More, now."

And he thought he was amazed? Her strength flooded back in with a tide of desire. She took a single step closer to him, her hands still carefully folded behind her back. "Good," was the best she could manage.

Solas looked down at her. When they were close, he seemed so tall, though he was not even a half head taller than she was. His eyes flicked between her eyes and her lips. A line appeared between his eyebrows and he shook his head, turning away from her.

Her hand darted out and grabbed his elbow. "Don't go."

"It would be kinder in the long run...but losing you would...," He couldn't finish, instead she fell into his arms and just like in the Fade, he kissed her.

This time, in the fullness of the mortal world, she felt his heartbeat against her, the fine texture of his skin, the sweet taste of his breath. Her hands were on his waist, his back, feeling the tension of the wiry muscles underneath.

"Ar lath ma vhenan," he breathed, pulling away from her. He tried to walk away again. He even made it a few steps before she stopped him.

"You can't just say that and walk away," she said to his back. He stopped, his hand coming up to brace himself against the door.

"I...," he began and fought for the next words. "It has been so long since..."

Solas said she was strong. She decided to prove it and took the few paces to him. She set her chin on his shoulder and her arm around his waist again. He was as tense as a spring, but even so, he leaned back against her.

"I haven't ever been in love before," she admitted as he leaned his head against her. "We'll go slowly."

He put his free hand over hers. "You astound me."

"I hope to," she replied quickly and Solas laughed despite himself. She moved herself around to face him and offered him her hand. "Come, vhenan, let me show you."

_Notes:_

_Ma bora'din. Ma nuvenin, Solas. = My bad attempt at elvhen, meaning loosely "I don't want to lose you. I need you Solas"_


	8. Vhenan'ara

Solas took her offered hand and let her lead him.

Varania was surprised to find that he was trembling, just a little, barely noticeable if she hadn't been so focused on the sensation of his fingers sliding between hers. Even that simple motion was erotic, a promise of things to come.

She'd be a liar if she said she hadn't dreamt about this moment. She woke from dreams more than once, grateful that he hadn't found her in the Fade again since that first time. If he'd found those dreams, ones where she was entangled in his sinewy limbs and woke with a throbbing between her legs?

But he was here now, warm and alive in the real world with this steel blue eyes his eyes dark and conflicted. She watched him struggle with himself. She struggled with herself too, with her mad desire and counterpointed it with his obvious distress.

She stopped, still paces away from the bed. "Am I pressuring you?"

He blinked at her. Smiled. Made a little noise. "No, you aren't. I think I'm pressuring myself." He took her other hand and this time he did kiss the tips of her fingers. "I had long since decided that physical pleasures were not going to be part of my life again." He chuckled darkly. "Not that my body and I haven't disagreed about this."

Varania tried unsuccessfully not to smirk. "I don't even know how to respond to that."

Solas looked amused. He let go of her hands and tipped up her her chin so he could look at her. He cocked his head. She loved it when he did that.

"You don't have to say anything." He prevented her attempt at a reply with a kiss. She loved how soft his lips were, how warm his skin always was. "This is what you want?" he whispered against her mouth.

"Yes," she replied, entwining her arms around him. One hand was on the back of his neck, fingertips at the base of his skull. Her fingers moved up the back of his head, grazing along the sensitive skin of his scalp. He made a noise that was only slightly too dignified to be called a whimper.

"If you only knew what that does to me," he muttered. Varania tilted her head back.

"I have a pretty good idea." She wasn't sure if it was normal to grin this much when contemplating sex, but it felt right even so.

When he smiled this time, the corners of his eyes crinkled. He kissed the tip of her upturned chin. "I'm beginning to think..." He kissed the corner of her mouth and slid his lips along her skin to her cheek until his breath ghosted the shell of her ear. "...that you are exactly what I need, despite everything." He kissed her earlobe and nuzzled along her ear to the tip.

Varania didn't know what everything was, but she was vividly interested in being what he needed. She wanted him so desperately; she'd known both love and lust before, but never both at once. It was overwhelming. If she could give him only a fraction of what he made her feel, she would be content.

"I hope so," she said. Taking what self control she had left, she pulled away from him and took his face between her hands. She knew he was struggling with him and his feelings as much as she was; even now she could feel the tension in his body. She wanted to made sure that he was here for all the right reasons.

There was last important thing she hadn't told him.

"Solas, vhenan," she said, suddenly serious. "I love you." His expression softened at her admission. Varania ran her thumb along the ridge of his cheekbones and he closed his eyes and leaned into her hand. When he opened them again, she continued. "I want you to be with me, however you can be. I don't want you to regret anything."

"I regret a lot of things." His reply was quick and he mirrored her, hand coming up to cradle her face. "Whatever happens, I won't let this be one of them."

Her hesitation was gone at that. He said he was ready. He said this was what he wanted and she trusted him. Maybe that was crazy, but she trusted him. She kissed him this time, or so she thought. It was hard to tell. All at once it was a flurry of action. Her tongue was in his mouth and his hands found their way under the hem of her tunic. He pushed her away just long enough to yank it over her head. The top clasp tore and she heard it and so did he, but his only reply was a sardonic raised eyebrow before he flung the tunic off into a corner. She wore nothing underneath. He seemed to approve of that development, his eyes roaming over her pale pink skin.

She let his enthusiasm wash over her, fingers finding their way to his belt and unfastening the buckle, letting the leather slither to the floor. She slipped her hands into the short sides of his sweater, his skin underneath so warm. Her hands skidded up to his ribs. He squirmed a little. Varania felt a wicked grin grab the corner of her mouth.

"Are you ticklish?"

The tip of his tongue appeared between his teeth. "Maybe."

"Oh, well, this is important information." She wriggled her fingers and he clamped his arm over them.

"Oh no you don't." He grabbed her hand and pulled off the tunic himself. The jawbone he wore got tangled up with it and both clattered to the floor. Solas looked at the jawbone for a split second before making some internal decision and shaking his head. He turned back to her, taking her hands before they could find his ribs again.

He took a step like he was stalking her and she let him lead her through the short space to the bed. Solas had his hands on her waist and directed her to sit. His thumbs made a little circle on her hips before swiftly unlacing her pants. He didn't say anything, just untied them and boosted her hips up to pull them off, underthings and all.

Normally, Varania was cold. Tevinter was warm after all, and Skyhold was most certainly not. But right now, she was surprised steam wasn't rising off her skin. She was feverish.

"Now," he said, taking her hands again, he tucked her fingers into the waist of his pants. "Let's find something else to occupy these fingers."

That was about the last thing she expected would ever come out of his mouth. He seemed so controlled more of the time, though she knew there was passion underneath. It was just exciting to see it exposed in something other than anger. She curled her fingers around the fabric and tugged, pulling him a little closer.

Carefully, with deft fingers the laces came undone. Her heart flipped over in her chest watching him watch her with such intense focus. Varania was at a loss for words, her heart flipping in her chest. She looked down at her fingers, focusing there instead.

This was so unlike all the experiences she'd had before. Sex was a tool, something to get what you wanted. She had lovers of other slaves, so the master could watch. In her short years of freedom, she would trade sex for what she needed to stay alive. Even among the Dalish, she took a lover of a widowed man hoping that would make them accept her more.

Her fingers stilled; She was suddenly cold.

Solas stopped dead. "Ma vhenan?"

Butterflies fluttered in her chest. Varania looked up at him, wondering what he saw. Solas frowned, concern washing across his face. He knelt down in front of her instead, taking her face between his warm palm.

"If you have changed your mind, please tell me."

She grabbed at his shoulders. "No, that's not it, not at all. I'm just...this is new."

He raised an eyebrow.

"Not that new," she tried to smile at him though it felt flat. "I have just always...separated feelings and sex." She gave up and frowned. "I'm not sure how to feel both at once."

"You don't have to do this," he said. "Not for me."

She felt him pulling away, so she cut him off. "No, I want to. I want to be with you because I love you. I'm just...I think I'm afraid I'll do something wrong."

He pulled her close but didn't speak. Varania reveled in the heat of his body, feeling warm again. She laid her head on his shoulder. Solas kissed her temple and she felt him smile against her. He still said nothing.

She wondered what he was thinking. It was impossible to know.

"Solas." His name was hardly more than a breath as she melted against him, suddenly again aware that her clothes were strewn all over the floor. Even just this, skin touching skin, felt more intimate than anything she's experienced before. It was this she was truly frightened of, this emotional nakedness.

"Ma enansal," Solas's voice took on a soft lilt when he spoke elvhen. "Ma nuvenin hamin bellanaris sahlin."

She only partially understood the words, but the meaning was still clear. Even if she'd known none of the words, the affection and the heartache was like music in the timber of his voice. Whatever else, at this moment, they felt the same. Unlike the ancients the Dalish taught her about, she was mortal and her time was finite and being deeply in this moment was the only eternity she would ever really know. The realization washed over her like warm water.

Varania slid out of his embrace just enough to move them further on to the bed, reaching for him. Solas followed, quickly shedding the last of his clothes as he came to her. They kissed again, softly but with increasing fervor. He buried his hands in the waves of her red hair. She ran one hand along his back, the other on his head so against her fingers could toy with the tip of his ear.

With a little growl, he shifted his weight and flipped her on top of him. She straddled his narrow hips, and in this position there was no denying his arousal or hers. She needn't have worried that her heart would get in the way.

"Tu na nuvenin emma'in ma?" he managed, his lips brushing against her cheek. This she understood. Do you want me? This question she could answer. In his passion, he seemed to forget how to speak anything but elvhen.

"Neran." Yes, please.

Solas shifted himself underneath her and she moved in response. With a few deft adjustments Varania felt him; insistent, urgent, demanding. She yielded. Poetic words flitted through her head, so different was this than just sex. This was more, it's motivations were different.

He was inside her and she was all around him. Closer and closer still.

"Elvarel," she whispered. More.

She moved against him with his encouragement and neither of them seemed capable of words. Varania lifted herself up to look at him, and he followed, half sitting up, his arms tight against her, their foreheads touching as she rocked against him. Her body responded to his so strongly. She felt him everywhere.

"Emma lath," Solas said. My love.

Varania repeated it. "Emma lath."

His eyes closed as she rocked against him, a muscle in his jaw pulsed. His fingers were gripped tight in her hair. She could feel growing pressure in him, held back, struggling. She moved, shocks of pleasure radiating through her.

So close.

She felt like floating, all her senses focused on just these sensations; the scent of his skin, his breath on hers, their bodies touching. Everything else was forgotten. Pleasure emanated out from the center of her body like a blush, a rush of hot blood under her skin, rushing over her belly, her breasts, up the back of her skull. Varania heard her own voice from far away. She cried out and Solas held her tight so she didn't fly apart as she rode out her climax against him.

Her breath came in ragged gasps and he stilled just long enough for her to regain her bearings, but then the rhythm changed. He changed. Solas rolled them over again, looking down at her. His eyes had a wicked, feral gleam.

He pulled back away from her, Varania's body protesting at the loss. Before she could even articulate her thought, he took charge again. He moved her like a doll until she was in front of him, on her knees but with her back pressed up against his chest. His breath brushed over her ear. One long arm was wrapped around her waist. His legs moved and adjusted her. She tilted her hips back.

Solas said nothing, just gripped her tighter, his other hand coming between them. He moved again and he was inside her with a maddening rush of pleasure. His body shuddered against her at the delicious friction. The tips of his fingers grazed up along the curve of her waist, her ribs, her small breasts. He made a deep, inarticulate sound.

They pitched forward, Solas catching himself on one hand, Varania bracing herself against the headboard. There were no more words, just primal noises. She heard a deep rumble from his chest and she felt his tongue sliding up along the back of her neck. He moved faster, harder, shaking them both. The sturdy bed groaned.

When she thought she could take no more, feeling herself responding to him yet again almost painfully, lungs grasping at air, he growled. She'd never heard such a sound from a man's throat. It was a wild sound. It was a purely bestial sound. Feral. She felt it as much as heard it as he throbbed and pulsed in her.

He collapsed, and they both tumbled into a mass of sweaty limbs and tangled bedclothes. Solas curled himself around her, almost protectively, raining kisses along her neck, her ears, in her hair.

"Emm'asha," Solas whispered. "Emma lath. Emm'arla."

Varania turned herself in his arms, to see his face. She saw the same overwhelming emotions she felt reflected there. Her eyes felt damp. She buried her face in his neck and let him hold her, holding him as the sun's last light disappeared behind the mountains.

"Ma emma vhenan'ara," she said, not even sure if he could hear her. She said them as much for herself as she said them for him. "Ma emma sa'lath."

* * *

><p>Elvhen translations for this chapter; please note Dragon Age Elvhen is a cipher and hence really hard to made sense of and I'm not a linguist. This is from a wide variety of sources and some of my own attempts at cobbling words together. I am not claiming its canon or even correct. But you get the picture yes?<p>

Ma enansal. Ma nuvenin hamin bellanaris sahlin = You are a gift, I want to stay in this moment forever.

Tu na nuvenin emma'in ma? = Do you want me inside you?

Neran = I like that

Elvarel = More

Emma lath = My love

Emm'asha, Emma lath, Emm'arla = My woman, my love, my home

Ma emma vhenan'ara = My heart's desire

Ma emma sa'lath = My one love


	9. Intrigue and Sex

Dorian was right; Just add a little blood magic and it could have been any party in Tevinter. It made it oddly simple to negotiate, though at all the previous parties Varania had been one of the invisible slave elves, serving drinks and only losing her invisibility when a guest thought it would be amusing to grope her.

It was strange, being a guest of honor instead. She cringed when they were announced, one companion after the other, all with long gracious titles.

"Lady Lavellan, vanquisher of the rebel mages (It made no sense; She'd recruited them to join her), Leader of the Inquisition." The other titles were no less impressive and then, at the end, "The Inquisitor's elven manservant, Solas."

How dare they?

It took all her carefully cultivated self control to prevent turning around and walking out again. But this was important and she knew it. And of course, Solas repeatedly counseled her that what was between them could not get in the way of what needed to be done. That aside, whatever happened tonight, she needed the might of Orlais to help keep the south in one piece while she battled Corypheus. All her righteous indignation would have to wait.

For his part, Solas seemed utterly unperturbed. He gave her an altogether inappropriate smile when she mentioned it, getting his point across without saying a word. He was so languid and comfortable when she finally found him again, lounging in the corner with his glass half empty and his cheeks flushed. Varania couldn't help but be surprised at his attitude.

"I do adore the heady blend of power, intrigue, danger, and sex that permeates these events."

Varania wondered if she looked as surprised as she felt. "Have you been to court before?"

He frowned at her. "In the Fade." Varania nodded. In the Fade. Of course. She wondered if he'd ever experienced anything first hand at all. She wanted him to. She wanted to experience things too, besides war and with less deception and intrigue and more sex. But now wasn't the time.

Despite how adorable he looked in that Inquisition uniform and knowing it all should wait even so, she couldn't help but ask. "Dance with me?"

Solas smiled at her, even his expression slow. "Later," he offered. "It won't help you win the favor of the court by dancing with your elf."

"I'm an elf."

Solas shook his head. "Your goal must be to make them forget that."

Varania sighed. He was right.

She left him there, still lounging against the wall and slipping into a comfortable state of intoxication. She was a bit jealous of his ease. He was far from the only one who seemed to be enjoying the evening far more than she would, though her companions were in varying stages of comfort.

She'd brought them all, her entire inner circle, her advisors, even Loghain. She brought everyone who was willing to come as a guest, knowing that was the best way to get as many fighting hands into the building. Gaspard seemed pleased by her massive entourage as did the court. Whatever it took.

Cassandra was stiff and uncomfortable. Varric seemed to be taking notes. Cullen was apparently fending off admirers and Sera was picking pockets. On the other hand, Dorian looked at home and Leliana and Vivienne were clearly in their element. It gave her some hope that they'd manage to pull this off after all.

Even with their help, it was a complete and utter disaster. In the end, Celene was dead, Florianne was dead, Gaspard was blackmailed into submission and Briala was quietly gloating in the shadows. It wasn't the way she wanted to make elves worthy of respect, by making one the shadowy power behind the throne who was just as devious as Celene ever was.

But it was done and there was no going back now. Briala and Gaspard both pledged to support the Inquisition and as long as their alliance held up long enough to defeat Corypheus, Varania could deal with the aftermath later if she managed to survive.

Varania was good at survival, but even she had her doubts they'd all walk away from this in one piece.

Afterward, though a part of her wanted desperately to run away, she knew then it was time for Leliana and her people to work. It was time to be seen. It was time to watch cultured ladies faint all over themselves when Iron Bull swung a flustered looking Dorian out on to the dance floor and absolutely upstaged everyone else. It had been worth staying, for that moment if nothing else.

Varania found herself overwhelmed to the be the focus of so much attention. She extricated herself from a throng of insincere admirers and headed towards the balcony to tuck herself out of view of the door, hoping no one would notice she was missing for a while. The amount of wine imbibed by those around her was helping on that front. She'd carried a glass around herself and imagined she'd only taken a sip or two. But they refilled her glass at every opportunity. Her cheeks were flushed and she knew she'd had more wine than was strictly wise.

She slipped out into the night air only to find Celene's once advisor Morrigan already there, engaged in what appeared to be a very intense conversation with Loghain. It looked as if they knew each other, and very well though clearly not on entirely good terms. Varania considered just escaping again before they noticed her, but that wasn't the right thing to do here. Hiding aside, she needed to be the Inquisitor, so instead, she cleared her throat.

Loghain looked up first. He was scowling.

"Ah, Inquisitor," Morrigan said, the soft lilt of her voice dismissing Loghain's fury as if it wasn't there. She smiled broadly but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "We were just speaking of you. I was telling Warden Loghain that I planned on offering my skills to the Inquisition, now that my position at court is no longer required."

Loghain made a grumbling and reluctant reply. "Yes, I must admit, the witch does have a variety of knowledge that could be useful to you."

"That may be the kindest thing you've ever said to me." Morrigan laughed at him.

He didn't justify it with a verbal response, only frowned at her for a moment before turning to Varania. She wondered what this was about, but knew better than to ask now.

"If you'll excuse me," he said, nodding to Varania. "We'll speak more at Skyhold, should circumstances allow for it," he said, directed clearly to Morrigan.

"Perhaps." Morrigan's reply had none of her earlier joviality. Loghain left without another word for either of them. Varania considered asking and Morrigan seemed to recognize it.

"Don't ask, not here and not now, because I won't answer," she said. "For the moment at least, it is immaterial. However, there are many questions I can answer and perhaps even this question, should it become important." She canted her head, a swath of silky black hair falling over one eye. "If you will accept my assistance to the Inquisition."

Varania wasn't sure what to make of her. She had been honest about everything she'd offered thus far, but Leliana had suggested to be wary. But what better place to watch someone than right beside you? It seemed like a wise thought, something from the books Dorian suggested to her from the library. Many times, she'd read late into the night trying desperately to become the leader the Inquisition needed.

Often she read with Solas curled up on her lap and was certain she missed half of it, distracted by the sounds of his breathing and the soft expressions he made as he slept and explored the Fade.

Distracted like now, again. She quickly looked back at Morrigan. She was smiling knowingly.

"Yes," Varania said, trying to act like she hadn't just drifted off. Stupid wine. "The Inquisition would benefit from your knowledge I think."

"Thank you Inquisitor," Morrigan looked behind Varania as she spoke, her knowing expression only solidifying. "I will see you at Skyhold then." She floated past Varania like some exotic bird. Varania watched her go, seeing what Morrigan had as she turned.

Solas stood in the doorway, empty wine glass in one hand. He seemed just slightly disheveled. His ears were pink and his eyes were glassy.

"Hello vhenan," he said, smiling broadly before brushing past Morrigan and coming out to her. His normal graceful gait was different somehow, slower, looser.

"You're drunk." Her voice was both shocked and delighted. He gave her another languid smile.

"Probably," he admitted as he leaned up against the stone railing. "And perhaps not wise, but I found that after the second glass it didn't seem particularly important.

Varania couldn't help but laugh. "This is something I never thought I would see. You always refuse to join us for Wicked Grace and when Bull wants us to try some new terrible Qunari drink."

He shrugged. "Its complicated." Varania heard herself sigh irritably, more than she intended. A little line appeared between Solas's eyebrows and he looked away. She mimicked his stance with her elbows on the railing and leaned her head against him. The faint scent of wine seemed to actually come from his skin.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I don't want you to behave any differently for my benefit. I only like your company, maybe more than I should." She chuckled. "And for now, I'd certainly hate to ruin this moment of potentially lower inhibitions with a disagreement."

Solas made a little mirthful noise. "Yes, very true. We need must take advantage of these moments. Indeed all the little moments are to be savored." He pushed back from the rail and Varania turned to watch as he gave her an overly dramatic half bow and offered her his hand.

"Before the band stops playing, before...," A wistful expression fluttered across his face like a breeze. "Dance with me." Her heart did a little flip.

"Yes." Varania stepped into his arms. Only the faintest strains of music drifted out on to the balcony, but it enough. She wasn't even particularly interested in the music or even in the dancing. Just being close to him after this terrible night was enough. All those disgusted looks, all those awful choices. Right now, her hand clasped in his, his hand firm on the small of her back, none of it seemed so terrible.

She rested her head on his shoulder. "This was an awful night, until now."

Solas just hummed in response, his arm pulling her a little closer. Their feet moved, supposedly in time with the rhythm of the music, but Varania wasn't even sure she could actually hear it. She lifted her head to look up at him.

There was so much in that gaze, this very old soul she realized she hardly knew at all. She wanted to know his so desperately, yet all her questions went unanswered.

Do you have a family?

Yes, but I have not seen them in a very long time.

She didn't even know how old he was. He wouldn't tell her.

Old enough.

Cryptic and yet, did it even matter? He leaned down and kissed her, softly. It didn't matter, not any of it. They all had pasts. If her own sordid past, as a slave, someone who betrayed her own blood, full of mistakes and choices made with animal instincts, if this didn't chase him away from her? What did it matter who he was before they met on the battlefield, when he took her hand and showed her the power of the anchor?

She kissed him back, with more force. She backed him up until he was pressed against the wall next the door, pinned between her body and the stucco. Her breath came fast, her hands with minds of their own exploring along his shoulders and his back, carefully avoiding those spots that she'd discovered were ticklish.

Solas's head lolled back against the wall, pulling away enough to catch his breath. He looked down at her with a lazy smile.

"Let's find somewhere more private to dance," he whispered with a deep tone to his voice.

Varania bit her lip and nodded, pressing the length of herself against him as punctuation. Then, as if they were love addled adolescents and not supposedly wise agents of the Inquisition, they clasped hands and skirted into the ballroom again, along the wall towards the trophy room. She lead him and somewhere behind one of those big statues was going to be good enough. She couldn't wait any longer.

She pulled him through the only slightly ajar door and closed it behind them. She flung her arms around his neck and leaned in towards him.

And then someone giggled. A woman's voice, husky and deep and familiar.

"Cassandra?" Varania pulled away from Solas and peered around the side of one of the pillars.

"And...Commander Cullen," Solas supplied.

He laughed as the two already tucked in between the statues both realized they were not alone and attempted to rearrange themselves into a less inappropriate position. Cullen had Cassandra between him and the wall, and the rosy lip stain she'd been wearing was smeared all over Cullen's face. Cassandra couldn't even look at them, her hand over her face and her head turned away. Thankfully for all four of them, no one had lost any clothing as of yet, but they were both more than a little disheveled.

"Inquisitor, I, I mean we," Cullen stuttered as he yanked down the hem of his red tunic abruptly. The entire scene was beyond comical. He was blushing furiously.

Varania couldn't help but laugh. She held a hand up to stop him before he could continue. "No, you don't have to explain. I'm certain no one on this room..." She laughed again instead of continuing. "We're going to," she pointed back over her shoulder. "We're just going to go now."

Solas looked at her out of the corner of his eye. He was the absolute picture of amusement. Varania looked back at Cullen and wished she had a way to capture this moment. His face, unlike Solas's was the perfect epitome of distress.

"Enjoy yourselves," Solas added helpfully and Cullen's blush actually managed to increase. Varania hadn't thought it would be possible. Cassandra cleared her throat.

"Can we pretend this didn't happen?" she asked.

Varania shook her head. "No, because I think it's wonderful." She grinned. "But we won't tell anyone. That's your choice." Snickering, she added, "As you were."

She took Solas's hand again and they made as graceful an exit as they could, closing the door before both breaking into laughter. All those stuffy Orlesians were just looking at them, the elven Inquisitor with her savage tattoos and her bald elven manservant laughing with tears in the their eyes, drunk in the middle of a ball.

And all without masks; How scandalous.

She looked over at Solas and he looked so happy, happy in a way she wasn't sure she'd ever seen him before. She squeezed his hand. She didn't care who saw them or heard them.

She reached over kissed him, not caring when there were voices whispering when she did it. "I love you."

He smiled back. "As I do you, ma vhenan."

This wasn't at all the moment she expected, but after all this grimness, all the darkness of this day and of all these days, this moment of laughter stood out brilliantly. Varania clutched the feeling tightly inside herself.

Together, they got to be happy for one perfect moment and that was more than some people had in a lifetime. Whatever else she was, Varania was lucky. She was lucky and she was loved and she was alive.

Corypheus didn't stand a chance against her.


	10. Blood and Lyrium

"Honestly, the entire idea makes me exhausted," Maire Hawke said as she walked beside Varania and ran a hand through her cropped ginger hair. "I know logically there's a difference between what Merrill does, what my cousin Kya does and what's going on with the Wardens. But after everything that happened at The Gallows? I still have a hard time with magic is magic ."

Solas nodded. "After what you've told us, even I cannot fault that. The primary flaw in the practice of blood magic does seem to be its abuse; it's use as a crutch instead of a tool." He got a sly look on his face. "Wouldn't you agree, Dorian?"

Dorian threw his hands up. "I'm not having this conversation with you. You'll find some way to turn it around. I know when I'm out matched."

Solas chuckled. He loved being right.

Varania walked between Hawke and Solas and hadn't offered much during their exchange. She'd seen enough blood magic in Tevinter to be too wary to try it, yet at the same time, she saw Solas's point. Often it wasn't used for anything different than other magic.

Lyrium or blood? What did it matter?

Despite the dark subject, the mood as they neared Skyhold was pleasant. This far into the mountains they dismounted the horses and walked them. It was too easy to have a beast turn an ankle and wasn't worth the chance. And they weren't in a hurry for once. There was much to plan for now, but no one wanted to face the seemingly insurmountable task that was taking Adamant.

Instead, they avoided the subject entirely and found themselves falling into a comfortable rhythm of companionship.

More had joined them as they moved. Not just Morrigan and her son, but also a variety of volunteers looking to join the Inquisition. By the time they neared the gates, between her inner circle, soldiers, recruits and their supporters, they were nearing one hundred strong. Their footprints and voices rang out in the cold clear air.

They continued to talk about magic and blood and Varania found herself tuning out the words and just hearing their voices like music. Her feet crunched in the snow. Her nose was cold.

She was happy.

Just over the ridge, the bridge to Skyhold came into view and there were a few jovial cheers, a gasp or two, and even some tears from their newest recruits. It amazed her how much the Inquisition meant to people, even as they struggled so hard every day to just keep going. They looked to her, as if she was the reason for it all.

Sometimes it felt like a crushing weight, bearing her down into the mountain, but today if felt like they were lifting her up, carrying her along so she could do what had to be done; to close the rifts and find some way to make the world right again. As the distance closed towards Skyhold, for brief moment everything seemed to be in the right place. Maybe there was something to this crazy idea that she really was chosen for this.

The first footsteps onto the stone of the bridge echoed. Varania slowed her steps and stopped, moving herself out of the way of the parade of bodies to gaze out at the blue shadows decorating the peaks, the pink streaks just beginning to appear at the horizon. Solas stopped beside her, just close enough that she could feel the warmth of his body, but not touching. In the distance, a hawk screamed.

"Is something amiss vhenan?" He spoke softly enough that no one would hear them.

"Not at all," she smiled, looking over at him. As stunning as the view was, she found herself more interested in looking at Solas instead. It wasn't even that she found him handsome, though she did, but there was puzzle behind those blue eyes and she wanted work it out. She reached her hand out toward him. "Everything is..."

She was cut short by a woman's voice, not quite a word but an exclamation, a thousand emotions rolled into that utterance. Both Varania and Solas turned to look in time to see Hawke break into a run across the bridge. Without thinking, Varania grabbed Solas's wrist, almost to keep herself standing. There was only one person that would send Hawke running across that bridge.

"Maker's balls," Varric's voice cut in from behind her. "It's Fenris."

Varania's fingers tightened around Solas's wrist.

"Your brother," he said, hand coming over hers. His fingers felt hot.

She didn't trust herself to speak, only nodded. Everything seemed to move in slow motion. Her greatest mistake stood on the other side of the bridge, holding his tall wife in his arms. She could only see parts of him, mostly eclipsed by Hawke and her cloak fluttering around them in the breeze.

"The last time I saw him, he rightfully wanted to kill me," she muttered, uncaring if anyone heard her. "And I do need to talk to him; I want him to understand." She snorted. "But he won't listen. He never did. Not even before."

Solas looked sympathetic. "I do understand." He squeezed her hand. "But he is here, and perhaps that means more than you realize."

Varania looked at him from the corner of her eyes. "You've never struck me as the silver lining type, Solas."

He smiled. "I'm full of surprises."

Varric patted her back as he passed. "He's less likely to kill you these days," he said. "If that's any help."

She resisted the urge to say something flippant in reply but there was nothing flippant about what happened between them. She couldn't joke about it.

Varania gritted her teeth and waited. She waited until everyone else passed into Skyhold. Several of the new recruits looked at her with awe as they went by and Varania did her best not to cringe. It had gotten easier, with victory upon victory, to see herself differently. Sometimes she was able to see the Herald of Andraste, the Inquisitor, sometimes even as just a woman who loved a man; not just the former slave who stumbled into all of this by accident.

But Fenris, he made her remember who she was, whether she wanted to or not. As different as he looked now with his red hair gone white, now cropped short to his head, his eyes were still the same. They were the same eyes she saw in the mirror everyday; overlarge, even for an elf and that same odd grey green with the slightly out of place dark eyelashes.

He just stood there, like a testament to the history she wished she could forget, right outside the portcullis talking to Hawke. A few times Hawke made animated hand gestures in Varania's direction. Varania was glad she couldn't hear what they were saying.

Solas waited with her for a while, but eventually she sent him ahead. As much as he had become a part of her life, as much as she relied on his knowledge, the magic he was teaching her and his steady presence, this was something she could only do alone.

Her feet were numb, even in her heavy boots. The coldness of the snow seeped in the seams now that she was still. Her heart thudded in her chest and there was a vague ache behind her eyebrows and between her shoulder blades. She'd faced an ancient magister with aspirations of godhood, but walking across the bridge to see her brother seemed more terrifying.

She squared her shoulders and stood up straight. She forced herself to believe in herself for a moment, even if it wouldn't last. This was her home. She hadn't done it alone, not at all, but she was the Inquisitor. Whatever mistakes she'd made, whatever hatred he bore her, it was out of her hands now. She couldn't undo the past.

She was sorry for what she'd almost done to Leto...Fenris...but she couldn't imagine that was going to be enough.

With faked bravado, she finally made her way across the bridge. Her footsteps echoed around her. Fenris didn't look up until the last moment, turning his eyes away from where Hawke held his hands in hers. The expression on his face was utterly blank.

"Welcome to Skyhold, Le..." she almost said his given name, the name he'd let go of when the lyrium burned away his memories and he forgot her. Varania corrected herself. "Fenris."

He snorted at her and Hawke rolled her eyes, the expression shrugging her entire body in an exaggerated way.

"Fenris." She used his name as a scolding.

He glanced back at her, meeting her eyes for a moment before his shoulders slumped a little. Fine, his posture said. He looked back at Varania; this time his face looked sour.

"Inquisitor," he managed. His voice was at once familiar and totally foreign. The silence that followed was silence long and uncomfortable. Eventually Hawke sighed melodramatically.

"Fine," she said, frustrated. She turned to Varania. She looked more sympathetic than Varania expected. "Fenris came to Skyhold at my request. I wanted...," she paused and looked back at Fenris as if she was daring him to interrupt. When he said nothing and just looked at her blandly, she continued. "I wanted to bring Fenris and Bethany to the safest place I could. And this is it."

"I thought your sister Bethany died during the Blight." Varania furrowed her brow. "I overheard you speaking to Blackwall."

Hawke made a bitter sound. "My sister did die during the Blight. Bethany is my daughter." She gave Fenris another pointed look. "Your niece."

Varania wasn't sure how to reply. Every mistake she'd even made was a on a slow replay through her head. Her brother's child, here, in Skyhold. She felt a sudden pang, an emptiness she thought she'd put behind her. She remembered her mother's face.

"Oh," was the terribly articulate reply she finally came up with. "I...congratulations."

Hawke smiled. "Bethany is almost three now, so it's a bit late for all that." She looked back at Fenris as if she was trying to communicate with him without words. After a moment she added. "Why don't you go take Bethany to see Uncle Varric? I'm sure he's missed her."

Fenris nodded at her and turned away without a word. Varania watched him walk away. It was still Leto, even under those lyrium brands, walking with that same slouching posture their mother always scolded him about.

Stand up straight, Leto. You should be proud to be so tall.

Hawke's voice interrupted her. "Despite how he's acting, Fenris wanted to come here. He...I don't know. He understands more now." She put her hand on Varania's arm and Varania turned to look at her. "I know what you did was out of desperation. I know desperation. I've been there before."

"Thank you for trying to help, but I know I was wrong," Varania said, turning away to look back in the direction Fenris had gone. She saw the last flash of white hair as she turned the corner at the top of stairs. "And I probably should have died for it, but I didn't. And now, there are things only I can do."

"You shouldn't have died because you made a mistake." Hawke voice was soft.

"Maybe, maybe not," Varania said. Fenris's presence made her feel small, twelve years old and terrified. He made her feel twenty-two and made her remember that burning sensation in her lungs when she ran from Kirkwall and almost threw herself into the Waking Sea.

When I look at you now, I think you got the better part of the deal.

She meant it then, and she meant it now.

She was still a slave, this time to the anchor in her hand. She didn't get to make her own choices. How could she have been so foolish to let herself thing otherwise?

"Maker, the two of you are so alike; you're going to brood yourselves to death," Hawke groused. She shook her head. "Think about what I said. And talk to him. Please." She sighed. "For both your sakes and for mine. And for Bethany. She doesn't have much for family, just my brother Carver who is as far away from Orlais as I could get him and you. I don't want her to lose what little she has."

Varania made a little noise. "I can't imagine I'm good family to have."

"Well, I disagree," Hawke said quickly. "I see what you've done here, how all these people feel about you. Whatever you think, you keep making the right, good choices. These good people love you, including Varric. He said you impress him all the time. He thinks you really are the Herald of Andraste, you know. I trust him. You should too." Hawke patted her arm again. "Just think about it."

She left her then, heading up the stairs after Fenris, with a spring in her step she hadn't seen from Hawke before. Varania sighed.

The feelings swirling in her chest answered a few questions Varania had about herself, all those things she still wrestled with. She wasn't so secure as she was pretending to be. She wasn't sure about anything except that despite being in the middle of all these people, despite having a lover and friends and more than she could have even imagined she wanted, sometimes she still felt desperately alone. No one else could really understand her; what she'd been through, how she'd lived before.

She missed her mother, but she was dead. She missed her brother, but he hated her. He'd tried to help her, even if it had hurt her in the end. He tried to find her again and she offered him back into the jaws of servitude. Fenris hated her and he had every right to do it.

Varania hated herself too.

Lyrium and Blood. They mattered after all.


	11. Predictability and Anger

Hawke had quarters up along the curtain wall, as did Loghain and several of the other agents they'd acquired. Morrigan took a pair of rooms off the the garden to find herself more privacy. Skyhold was plenty big enough to accommodate them all, even little tiny children. Varania knew her niece would be human. That was what happened when elves had children with shemlen. The Dalish found it offensive, yet the Keeper often told a tale about an elf-blooded Dreamer who lived with the Sabrae clan for a time. She said their Keeper, Marethari was a good kind soul who could look past the round ears and see the elf inside the boy.

She could see it in Bethany too. The little girl had dark skin like Fenris and lovely auburn hair. Her eyes were brown as fall acorns and she smiled a lot. She had a tiny, musical voice and too long eyelashes. Varania wanted to scoop her up and kiss her to pieces but she stood back and watched silently from the open doorway.

Hawke sat on the bed, her long legs folded under her, a faint smile on her face. Fenris knelt on the floor with his daughter, holding her under her arms and talking to her with an animated voice. She would never have believed if is she wasn't seeing it.

Varania cleared her throat and Hawke looked up. She smiled. When Fenris looked up, his smile disappeared. Hawke got off the bed and swung Bethany into her arms, plopping her on to the swell of her hip.

"Come on baby girl," she said. "I hear your new Uncle Blackwall is making a rocking griffon." She smiled at her daughter. "Let's go see if he'll let us test it out." Hawke nodded at Varania knowingly as she walked out the door.

Varania was glad she hadn't tried to introduce them just yet, but she heard the little girl's voice ring out from behind her.

"Who's that pretty lady momma?" Varania flinched at the pained expression that rolled across Fenris's face when he heard it. He got to his feet and crossed his arms over his chest.

"That's the Inquisitor, " Hawke explained, her voice fading as she walked away. "She's your Aunt and we'll talk to her later."

"Oh good," Bethany's little voice replied. "I like that her face looks like mine."

Varania closed her eyes. She took a deep breath and opened them again. Fenris was staring at her, his jaw set. He fiddled with the positioning of his arms over his chest. She took another breath and tried to ignore the muscle tensing beneath her shoulder blade.

"She's beautiful," she said.

"She looks like you," Fenris groused. "And like me. Hawke complains that she only gave her the ears."

Varania couldn't help but smile at that. "I like Hawke," she said, still trying to avoid the looming subject between them. "She's been a great ally."

Fenris nodded.

It was so awkward. They just looked at each other. They looked at the walls, the floor.

"I'm sorry Fenris," she said finally and he looked up at her.

His lips thinned. "I'm sure you are." He tightened his arms around himself.

"Do you even care why?" she blurted out, unable to stop herself.

"Should I care?" he grunted. "If Danarius had succeeded, if Hawke hadn't been there..." He shook his head, frowning. "I'd be a slave and you'd be a magister and then you wouldn't be sorry at all."

"You really think that, don't you?" she asked, not really expecting him to reply. She mimicked his stance, arms folded, though hers were around her middle instead of her chest in a vain attempt to comfort herself. "I was starving to death, I was beaten by the man that employed me once he found out I was a mage. I was dying by inches when Danarius found me and offered me a way out. And I thought, if being free was so terrible for me, it couldn't be any better for you." She made a strangled sound. "Being a slave was better than being free in Tevinter. I thought...I thought I could save us both." She looked away. "I didn't know there was any other life we could have."

He sneered. "You expect me to believe that?"

"No," she replied quickly. "I expect you to scream and rant and think only about yourself." She gritted her teeth, glaring at him. "That's how you always were. You were so jealous when my magic developed and Danarius had his apprentice teach me how to read. I tried to show you and you refused. You went after the Lyrium instead; you fought like an animal to get it. Anything to show the world you were better, even if you didn't have magic." She pointed at him. "You did this to yourself and its just like you to forget everything so you could blame someone else. It was always someone else's fault." She bit back a sob that threatened to tear out of her throat. "I know we were taught that we were just tools, just things to be used. But amongst each other? Us slaves tried to comfort each other, to work together to give ourselves the best life we could but you never did, you never took part. You never helped anyone. You fought everything. You've never stopped fighting, not even now when you're more free than I'll ever be."

Fenris opened his mouth to reply. Varania could almost feel his scathing words before he said them, but instead he closed his mouth again and frowned, though it was different than before. Sadder, resigned even.

"I do fight everything, or I did at least," he admitted. "I almost lost Hawke." He sighed, though it was more like a low growl. "I don't remember much still," he said. "But I do remember more than I did before. I remember our mother and you and I remember being so fucking angry, all the time. I'm still angry."

She didn't expect him to concede anything. She was so surprised that she just looked at him dumbly, unable to process it. She'd almost expected him to attack her. Part of her wanted him to.

"I don't know that I can forgive you," he said. "But I can't forgive me either."

Varania was at a loss. "I don't need you to do anything. Except maybe not kill me. There are things I need to do first. At least wait until I figure out a way to kill Corypheus."

"I thought we killed him last time," Fenris admitted. "I don't know if it can be done."

"It has to be," Varania said. "And I'm going to find a way. Once it's over? You're welcome to tear my heart out, just like you threatened to."

"I...," he stopped and didn't finish.

She turned her back to him, almost hoping he'd just do it. She didn't want to die, but this hurt. Everything hurt.

"At Adamant," he began, before the silence overwhelmed them again. "Please take care of Hawke. She doesn't...she's willing to throw herself in front of things to save people she cares about."

"I won't let her die for me," Varania said, not looking back. "No matter what comes."

Fenris made an approving sound. "Thank you."

She never thought she'd hear him say that, but she couldn't just let it stand.

"Don't thank me yet," she said. She looked back at him over her shoulder. "But I'll do what I can." She gave him a last nod and walked back through the still open door and down the long stretch of wall between their rooms and the tower ahead that held Cullen's office. She could almost feel his eyes boring into her back, debating.

If Hawke fell, he'd try to kill her. She wasn't sure she wouldn't deserve it, but if he tried, the Inquisition was bound to kill him. Even with his lyrium brands, Fenris was just one man in a keep filled with people loyal to her, whether she deserved it or not.

For the second time, her brother's life was in her hands.

She opened the door to Cullen's office and closed if behind her stoically. Cullen was leaning over his desk, pondering over a map of the Western Approach. He looked up at the sound of the door and smiled at her.

"Inquisitor," he said. His voice was friendly and happy to see her, as he usually was. After she'd supported him as he struggled with his lyrium addiction, he'd come to see her as a friend. Sometimes, she wished this tall awkward human was her brother instead of that sullen man who shared her eyes. Varania felt her lip tremble.

Cullen saw it and came around the desk, his hand on her shoulder. "Are you well?"

Varania shook her head, but didn't dare speak. She swallowed the lump in her throat. Cullen looked at her for a moment and frowned.

"I was planning on going to speak with Cassandra about the last of the plans for Adamant. Would you like to join me?" He didn't ask what was wrong, rightfully reading on her face that she wouldn't tell him.

Varania let out the breath she didn't know she was holding. "I noticed you stopped using her title," she commented, grateful for something else to think about. "Does that mean?"

Cullen's cheeks flushed pink and his ears were suddenly red. "I...," he almost stuttered. He swallowed. "Yes."

Varania faked a smile though she was pleased to hear it. "I'm very happy for you."

Cullen looked pleased. Her heart still hurt, but she pushed it down. It was easier to be happy for Cullen and Cassandra than it was to be happy for herself anyway. However, suddenly Solas's face flashed into her head and she felt some sincerity work its way into her forced smile.

"Thank you," Cullen said, rubbing the back of his neck. "It was unexpected, but I think we're happy."

"Well, let's go then," Varania said and Cullen held out his arm. She looped her hand over his elbow. "All that blushing is bound to be distracting."

Cullen laughed. "We are that predictable."

Varania's smile slipped a little. "Most of us are."


End file.
